Selected Poems Part 3

His Blessings he in common grants, To Hemlock as to n.o.bler Plants; Thy Virtue thou dost circ.u.mscribe, And dost dispence Thy influence, But to the Darlings of thy Tribe, Thou Wealth and Honour dost bestow On thy triumphant _Fools_, Whilst abject Sence do's barefoot go; So weak's the Learning of the noisie Schools.

IV.

Tell me, ye Learned Sots! who spend your time In reading Books, With thoughtful Heads and meagre Looks, To Learnings Pinacle, who climb Through the wild Briers of _Philosophy_, The Thorns of harsh _Philology_, The dirty Road where _Aristotle_ went Enc.u.mber'd with a thousand _terms_ Uncouth, Unintelligible, Not by any fancy fathomable, Bringing distracted Minds to harms; The rankest _h.e.l.lebore_ cannot prevent.

Tell me, I say, ye Learn'd Sots!

Did e'r the old or new Philosophy, Make a Man splendid live, or wealthy die?

Tho' you may think your Notions truer, They'll ne'r advance your Lotts, To the Estate of Wise Sir _Jonathan_ the Brewer.

V.

A _Fool_! Heav'ns bless the charming Name, So much admir'd in Ages past, As long as this, and all the World shall last, Shall be the Subject of Triumphing Fame.

A _Fool_! what mighty wonders has he wrought?

What mighty Actions done?

Obey'd by all, controul'd by none; Even _Love_ its self is to its Footstool brought.

For t'other day, I met amidst the Throng A Lady wealthy, beautiful and young; _Madam_, said I, I wish you double Joy, Of a ripe Husband and a budding Boy, And with my self a sight of him you Wed, } The happy Part'ner of your Bridal Bed. } Sir, she reply'd, I him in Wedlock had; } Pointing unto an Image by her side, An odder Figure no Man e'r espy'd, Long was his Chin, and carotty his Beard, His Eyes sunk in, and high his Nose was rear'd, A nauseous ugliness possess'd the Tool, And scarce had Wit enough to be a Fool: Bless me (thought I) if Fools such fortune get, Then who (the Devil) wou'd be plagu'd with wit.

VI.

View but the Realms of _Nonsence_, see the State, The Pageant pomp attends the show, When the great G.o.d of _Dullness_ does in triumph go, How splendid and how great His num'rous Train of Blockheads do appear?

Almighty _Jove_, That governs all above, Is but a puny to this Mighty G.o.d, The bl.u.s.tring G.o.d of War, Who with one Nod Makes the Earth tremble from afar, Guarded with puissant Champions stern and bold That breath Destruction, talk of b.l.o.o.d.y Jars, Have nought but ragged Cloaths to keep off cold, And tatter'd Ensigns relicks of the Wars.

The G.o.d of _Dullness_ mounted on his Throne Beneath a Canopy Of fix'd stupidity, Prostrate his num'rous Subjects tumble down, They pay obeisance to their gloomy G.o.d, And at his Nod They act, they move, They hate, they love, They bless, they curse, they swear, For they his Creatures are, He amply does his Benefits afford, For each confirmed Blockhead is a Lord.

VII.

Then talk no more of Parts and Sence, For Riches ne'r attend the Wise, Have you to dullness no pretence, You shall to Grandeur never rise; He with a gloomy mien Divinely dull, Whose very aspect tells the World he is a Fool, Whose thicker Skull Is proof against each storm of Fate, Is Born for Glory, and he shall be Great.

Who 'ere wou'd rise, Or great Preferment get, Must nere pretend to Wit, Or be that monstrous, ill shap'd Man call'd Wise; He must not boast Of Learning's Value, or its cost; But, if he wou'd Preferment have, He must be much a _Fool_, or much a _Knave_.

VIII.

A _Knave_! the finer Creature far, Tho' of the foolish Race of _Issachar_.

As the unwieldy _Bear_ among her young Deform'd, and shapeless Cubs, Finds one more strong, Active and sprightly than the rest: Him she transforms and rubs, And licks into a better shape the Beast.

Thus do's the gloomy G.o.d of Folly do, With the insipid Race: He do's his num'rous Offspring call, } He handles one and feels his Skull; } If it be thick, he says, Be thou a Fool. } Another, if about his Face He spies a roguish Mein, a cunning Look; If there appears The hopes of Falshood in his tender Years, Good signs of Perjury And hardn'd Villany; This for his secret Councils he do's save, Lays on his Paw, and bids him, Be a _Knave_.

IX.

A _Knave_! the elder brother to the _Fool_: His vast Dominions are no less Than the whole Universe: The Lands are bounded by the Sea: The Seas the st.u.r.dy Rocks obey: The Storms do know the Limits of their Rule: Neither the Land nor Sea this Hero bind, But unconfin'd O're both he finds a way, O're both he bears Imperial sway: His gay Attendants are the Cheat, That ruines Kingdoms to be Great.

The fawning, flattring Fop, who creeps Just like a Spaniel at your Heels, To some ill.u.s.trious Knave, who sweeps Away a Kingdoms Wealth at once, And with the Publick Coin his Treasure fills; For Kingdoms work t'enrich the _Knave_ and _Dunce_.

X.

Honesty's a Garb we're mock'd in, Only wore by _Jews_ and _Turks_.

Merit is a Popish Doctrine; Men have no regard to Works.

Substantial Knavery is a Vertue will Your Coffers fill; And Altars raise, Unto your Praise.

Be but a Knave, you'll keep the World in awe, And fear no Law; For no Transgression is, Where all Men do amiss.

But here methinks an antiquated _Hero_ starts, Surpris'd at my Discourse; He starts and boggles like a Horse, And d.a.m.ns our modern Knavish Arts.

XI.

Vain _Youth_, he says misguided by a _Knave_, By some dull Blockhead tempted from thy rest; The worldly Grandeur thou dost vainly crave, Is nought but Noise and Foolishness at best.

What Man wou'd quit his Sense, Or, the wise Dictates of right Reason's Rule, In vain pretence To be a rich, a gawdy _Fool_?

Or, quit his Honesty, so much despis'd, And basely condescend, To every little Knavish End; Run headlong into every Cheat, Attempt each Villany to make him Great.

Believe me Youth, (be better now advis'd) Thy early Vertues will thy Temples spread, } With lasting Lawrels 'round thy Head. } Shall flourish when the Wearers dead. } I who have always honest been, though poor, In whom the utmost signs of Age appears, And sink beneath the Burthen of my Years, Cou'd never yet adore A Knave or Blockhead, were he ne'er so Great; Or, be like to them, to purchase an Estate.

XII.

Poor thredbare _Vertue_ ne'er admir'd in Court, But seeks its Refuge in an honest Mind, There it securely dwells, Like _Anch.o.r.ets_ in Cells, Where no Ambition nor wild l.u.s.t resorts: To love our Country is indeed our Pride; We glory in an honest Action done; When the Reward is laid aside The Glory and the Action is our own, We seldom find The Good, the Just, the Brave, Have their Reward From Princes they did save From dire Destruction, or a poisoning Foe; They let them go Contemn'd, disdain'd; and most regard Those Villians sought their overthrow.

As if the Just, the Brave, the Good, Were but a _Bridge_ of Wood To waft to great Preferments o'er, Those, who were our foes before, And then be tumbl'd down like useless Logs, While those, who just pa.s.s'd o'er, And the obliging Bridge shou'd thank, Do scornfully stand grinning on the Bank, To see the venerable Ruines float Adrift upon the Stream, Contemn'd by them, Who give the Childrens Bread unto the Dogs; _In vain_, says he, _we've fought_---- But at this Word He fiercely look'd, and then he grasp'd his Sword.

XIII.

Pity it is, he said, this Sword of mine, Of late so gloriously did shine, In Foreign Fields 'midst Show'rs of Blood, With which I've cut my Pa.s.sage through The Snowy _Alps_ and _Pyrenean_ Hills, Where Death the Land with vast Destruction fills, 'Mongst Warriors, who Venture their Lives for their dear Countries good, Should now be laid aside 'Mongst Rubbish Iron old, From reaking Blood scarce cold; Or else converted to a _Knife_, For some d.a.m.n'd Villain first to cut A Princes Bread, and next his Throat: In vain we venture to preserve his Life, In vain to Foreign Fields we come, In vain to Foreign Force alli'd, If a nefarious Brood at Home Embarra.s.s his Affairs, Prolong the Wars, Only t' enrich his Enemies, Weaken his Government, and his Allies.

XIV.

'Tis strange a Prince, shou'd ere a _Fool_ preferr, To be an Officer!

A _Knave_ may serve an unjust Government, But ne'er prevent Those Mischiefs may attend the just: For who would trust A Villain may be bought by Gold, Unless design'd on purpose to be sold?

If Princes wou'd use _Fools_ as Shop-men do Their Signs or Boards of show, To tell the pa.s.sers by there's better stuff Within, 'tis rational enough.

But to set Centry at the Door, } A Patriot or a Senator, } Philosopher or Orator, } To tell the Pa.s.sers by their is within, A _Merry Andrew_ to be seen, Is very much ridiculous, Tho' to our grief we often find it thus.

Thus Princes b.a.s.t.a.r.dize Their Countries Sons Legitimate, And give the fair Estate Unto a Spurious Brood, That ne'er did good; The honest Work, the _Knave_ enjoys the Prize.

XV.

A Government adorn'd with Fools, Empty Trifles, useless Tools, Looks like a Toy-Shop gloriously bedeckt With gawdy gewgaws, Childrens play things, Painted Babies, Tinsel Creatures, Wooden Folk, with Human features, Made just for show, and no advantage brings, And prove of no effect.

It dwindles to a _Raree-Show_, In which no Man must act a Part But the dull _Blockhead_ and the _Beau_, The huffing _Fop_ without a Heart; What Wise Man would a Journey take On a dull Steed has broke his Back?

Or have recourse Unto a _Hobby-Horse_?

Those act by such wise Rules, Who prop Just Princes by a Tyrant's Tools.

XVI.

Surely the Genius of a fruitful Isle Is either lost, Or what is worst, Murder'd by those who shou'd support her Fame, Add Glory to her Name; The Heavens themselves have cast an angry look, Seldom the Glorious Sun does shine But Veils its face Divine.

_Jove_ does misguide the Seasons every Year; Nought can we read in Nature's Book, To reap her Fruits scarce worth our while.

Our Mother Earth, From whose unhappy Womb, We Mortals come, Ne'er shows a Glorious Birth, But proves abortive as our Actions are; Nought have we left but hope, Just like the Blind at Noon we grope: The number of our Sins we must fulfil, And if we're sav'd, it is against our will.

_FINIS._